Family Bike Ride

Over the winter A decided she wanted fenders for her bike. Mostly to look AWESOME. Notice how hot that white "mixtie" in the picture is with the fenders?

It took me months to locate the exact fenders required. Getting them as a Christmas gift would have been like her buying me a copy of "Never Been Kissed" so I abstained.

Come my birthday when spring was almost in the air and the bank account almost full enough for me to have access to, I decided since it was my day, I could buy whatever I wanted so I may as well spend waaaay too much money for something originally designed for practicality but taken to a much better looking and (surprise) far more expensive level than necessary. Understand, I've zip-tied, riveted and duct-taped pieces of $30 plastic fenders back together to get me through thousands of winter miles over the years. I also thought, before getting married that tuna straight out of the can as a meal was just fine too.

A of course is the same lovely lady who put Derby Day effort into getting primped to walk the neighbors dog along the "promenade" at the base of Mt. Tabor when we were first married. My point is, she didn't want the fenders for the sake of having fenders to keep the rain off, but specifically she wanted Tanaka Brass Fenders because they look friggin RAD and I'll admit, she has a good eye for cool.



At any-rate, I found the fenders on-line, pulled the trigger and they arrived in a big, brown, discrete package as promised. It took the better part of an afternoon, power tools and beer to get them mounted. A's bike has the biggest, smoothest tires possible and even though my measurements added up with the info on the website, the fenders were a tight fit with the tires and the frame spacing. But whoever thought a tight fit and fashion were any worse a match than peanut butter and jelly?

As I was installing her latest desire into reality, she decided her "Womens' Specific" seat was a piece of crap and wanted to go old school with the heaviest saddle ever made complete with steel springs.


I am 100% supportive of anyone having a comfortable bicycle seat. If it doesn't fit... you won't ride it. The problem comes with the theory of breaking in a real leather saddle. Trust me, I've tried to sleep with a new baseball mitt under my mattress and been as cranky as Billy Martin the next day. I also know all about spending 6+ hours in crappy wet chamois on an equally wet and chaffing bike seat. What I tried to tell A was that come the weekend, an hour from home with a new, stiff, rawhide, saddle I wasn't willing to hear the "Go buy me a hemorrhoid pad, then come back and pick me up in our car" blues.

With the fender project done and the Brooks B33 saddle mounted, she was off to test for tire rub and butt chaffing through the neighborhood. The good news couldn't have been better. In-fact as it turned out, the old school leather seat with the crazy bouncy ride was much more comfortable for her than her modern "especially designed for a woman" seat with feminine graphics in the logo.

So Saturday morning dawns and the Newmaforma is off for a family bike ride. We do our usual loop. A few joggers pass us. Then we pass them. People riding and jogging comment about the boat-bike. Drivers pace us weaving nervously close giving a hands free from the steering wheel thumbs up. Yell out the window asking where I bought it. They say at traffic lights that I should ride to their office because a guy 3 cubicles over likes to ride his bike and would love to see it. Gavin stays unimpressed with the public interest. Usual stuff.

The hill that can't be avoided near the end of the ride is a bit of a bear no matter which street you go up. About half-way up the way we usually go is a park. A bench. A tennis court. And a bursting with life emerald green plot of grass begging for a toddler to run on. Just after the park is the steepest pitch. A narrow serpentine stretch of road that from the lower slope seems to end abruptly at a large brick fireplace on the side of an otherwise forgettable house. When you get there, the road turns and the climb continues unmercifully for another block. An eternity at the end of a long ride.

A decides she needs to stop. Sitting on the bench, her back to the tennis court and feet spread wide apart, elbows on her knees, hands holding her head as she stares at the space between her feet, she slowly forms words. Her bike is lying in front of her, derailer side up, brass fenders shining gold in the sun. Gavin points to the open space and wants out of the boat. I go through the list of things that might be wrong. Saddle sores, sugar bonk, blisters, etc., etc.

"No one said anything about how pretty my bike is."

"What?"

"I'm riding a bike with a 40 lb seat and RAD brass fenders and all anyone says is 'nice boat!'. "

She pauses.

"At least my butt knows this is the sweetest bike in town."

I remain silet. Watching the shadows of the moving tennis players behind her.

"And for the love...I can't feel my legs and I have to climb this friggin hill? Ugggg."

Then she got up and I kid you not, drilled it up the rest of the hill leaving me, G and the boat-bike in her wake.